027: It Is All Just Business

The Black Gold Gang had John surrounded.

All he could hear were roars, accompanied by the sight of gold chains as thick as thumbs swinging wildly.

Scanner activated.

Their weaponry consisted primarily of kinetic submachine guns, and their cybernetic modifications leaned heavily toward subcutaneous armor.

Seeing that John remained silent, one man tilted his handgun and pressed forward, step by step, attempting to escalate the situation with a shove.

*Rat-tat-tat!*

John raised his rifle and fired, staring the man down. He emptied his magazine into the ceiling first.

The deafening clamor around him vanished.

"Whoa, whoa, okay, man."

The guy who had tried to get close quickly pulled back his hand.

The other Black Gold Gang members expanded the perimeter, the *clack-clack* of weapons being chambered creating a chaotic, metallic symphony as gun frames collided with mechanical limbs.

John’s expression remained calm.

He was a man who could let go of the steering wheel at three hundred miles per hour; having lived through a hail of bullets recently, he had learned to feign composure under extreme pressure.

John surveyed his surroundings:

Black men in white undershirts and hoodies, even their mechanical limbs modified with gold and graffiti-style paint, as if they were ready to turn him into a sieve at any second.

But most importantly...

John felt no killing intent from these gang members.

Unlike the Marcos Gang or the Nocturne thugs, they lacked that frantic, hair-trigger madness. Instead, there was a touch of posturing.

To put it bluntly, they were just counting on their numbers to intimidate him, with no real intention of risking their lives.

The Black Gold Gang controlled the West District; they couldn't afford to be cowards. If the opposition was aggressive but unwilling to fight, it meant things were not as simple as they seemed.

Ignoring their shouting, John pulled a fragmentation grenade from his spare ammo pouch.

He had scavenged it from his recent spoils.

It was a standard high-explosive weapon with a four-meter kill radius, enough to leave the gang members surrounding him severely wounded.

"Holy shit, what the hell are you doing!"

"Don't move! Drop the weapon!"

The surrounding gang members grew alert.

John calmly pulled the safety pin. "Shut your dog mouths. You're making my hands shake, and I’m allergic to gun muzzles. If some idiot has a negligent discharge and drops me, this grenade won't have eyes when it goes off."

The atmosphere turned stifling.

The opposition tried to create some distance.

John turned to stare at those on the outer circle, advancing step by step with the grenade raised, mirroring their retreat, making it look like he was ready to throw it at any moment.

And so, the gang thugs dared not move.

***

Tensions were high inside the warehouse, and a black stretched limousine was parked outside.

A Black man wearing a nanotube suit jacket emerged. He approached the perimeter, removed his gold-rimmed sunglasses, and hooked them onto his collar, revealing eyes like a lion's.

His temples were graying, and a golden heat-dissipation line ran along his cheek.

His mechanical hand was adorned with several intricately designed gold rings, and his wristwatch was a model that exuded extreme wealth.

He surveyed the scene and waved his hand, signaling the surrounding gang members to lower their weapons.

"Take it easy, young man."

He calmed the unrest with a glance. After diffusing the tense situation, he took the initiative to step forward, nodded at John, and personally reached out to reinsert the safety pin into the grenade.

The original leader of the gang thugs retreated behind him, crossing his arms and glaring at John.

The newcomer introduced himself.

"Vito Russell, head of the West District commercial sector."

He possessed a powerful presence and significant status; usually, he would have just watched such a trivial matter from the comfort of his car.

But Vito Russell was not like the pretentious, face-obsessed bosses of the New Era.

He was the type who would personally step in to resolve trouble—helping the young men under him assess the situation to minimize unnecessary casualties.

Vito spread his thick palms. "You are impressive, but why don't I recall a young man like you in the West District?"

"John."

John tucked the grenade away and shared a brief handshake with him.

Vito shifted his attention to the guys on the ground. "What’s the situation here?"

"Small-time thieves stole my car, and they’ve received the lesson they were due."

"No fatal wounds. You are a generous and merciful gentleman. To be honest, we were coming for these guys too."

Vito’s tone was calm as he stated his purpose. "They crossed the line within the Black Gold Gang's jurisdiction. I need to take them away to appease the public outrage and provide an answer to several parties."

"I'm afraid that won't do, sir."

John shook his head, refusing.

The Black men around them grew visibly annoyed.

The look in their eyes changed; they were truly considering killing him now.

John ignored them, keeping his focus solely on Vito.

"I am a victim as well. From the perspective of street dignity, I pay rent within the Black Gold Gang's territory, yet I have suffered property damage."

John’s brow furrowed, and he did not back down.

"With all due respect, Mr. Russell, if you had found these thieves first, would you have returned my stolen car to the underground garage?"

Vito Russell did not answer.

A stream of golden data flashed across his pupils. After a brief query, a sum of money was deposited into John’s account.

Vito said:

"The apartment rent is refunded to you as compensation for our insufficient security measures, but I must take these young men. There are businesses involved here that are not convenient for you to inquire about."

A spark of realization flashed through John’s mind.

In front of everyone, he raised his rifle and smashed the stock against Piotr Mercado’s head, knocking him out.

Mr. Vito’s expression soured.

John stepped forward, serious, and whispered in a voice only the two of them could hear: "I took a job at the Tie Clip. They told me to bring this guy back alive. I hope you understand."

Mr. Vito narrowed his eyes at the mention of the Tie Clip.

He stared at John with a meaningful gaze for a moment, as if he had realized something. Both sides reached a silent understanding, and then... he waved his hand, signaling the gunmen to clear a path.

Piotr wasn't very heavy; he was tied to the back seat of the motorcycle like a pig.

John pulled out a syringe, gave him a shot to keep him alive, then mounted the alloy RCH and sped toward the oldest cross-city bridge in the West District.

[Eden City - Old Bridge Underpass, West District]

The floating car tracks passed through Bilenburg and the inner districts. The drainage ditch, which had been dry for years, was now filled with graffiti and various scraps of debris, often serving as a site for illegal transactions.

[Mission Objective Updated]

[Settle the deal with the people from the Tie Clip. (Incomplete)]

John sat on the steps and smoked.

A black jeep kicked up sand as it came to a stop in front of him. Two or three burly men in leather pants walked over and, without a word, crouched down to plug in a data cable, confirming Piotr Mercado’s biological information.

The lead tough asked:

"Is he still alive?"

"Sleeping as soundly as a baby."

"Good. You’re John, right? Nice work on this run. We’ll take the man and the car. Your payment will be transferred to your account shortly."

The last man to step out moved toward the Isenberg motorcycle.

John calmly pulled out his gun. "I pulled the chip. It’s loaded with real, lethal rounds now."

The tough explained calmly:

"This car was loaned to you by the employer. You’ll get your full payment, and you can keep the gun and the chip, too. But wanting an alloy RCH just for cleaning up a few small-time crooks... that’s a bit greedy, man."

John didn't bother responding, holding his gun steady.

Just then, his phone rang—a call from the Tie Clip.

[John, not bad at all. Glad you escaped safely. I heard you brought Piotr in. What’s the situation now?]

"You played me."

John’s voice was cold.